


Take My Hand (And Never Let It Go)

by Skylar_Lois



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylar_Lois/pseuds/Skylar_Lois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen meets Felicity Smoak when she's on the run after her father was framed for a crime he did not commit. They meet again twelve years later and what starts off as her repaying the kindness he showed her when they were children turns out to be so much more. It sounds like the perfect love story, except that they are from different worlds, he finds out that her father was convicted for trying to have him killed and he's engaged to another woman. Will they be able to overcome all the odds stacked against them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
The man receives word from an informant in the castle about guards being dispatched. They are estimated to arrive in an hour. He quickly rushes through the manor to tell his master the news.   
  
"My lord!" the man says breathlessly when he finally finds his master pacing in the hallway outside the young lady's room.  
  
"What is it Larry?" Vincent Smoak says without looking at him.   
  
"The guards have been dispatched from the castle. They're headed straight here."  
  
Vincent meets his butler's eyes and nods, as if he's already expected this would happen.   
  
"My lord, you need to go now. Take your daughter and flee the country."   
  
Vincent shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Larry gapes at his master, horror struck. "But the guards! They'll execute you and your daughter if you don't leave!"  
  
"I'm aware of that, Larry," Vincent says patiently, as if he has all the time in the world, "which is why Felicity will be leaving. Be prepared to cover her tracks."   
  
"Why aren't you leaving, my lord? There will be time to prove your innocence as long as you survive. You don't have to die for a crime you never committed."   
  
"If my death will buy Felicity more time to flee, it will be worth it. Go and get ready."  
  
Larry shakes his head sadly and bows before retreating.   
  
Vincent exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding and steels himself before barging into his daughter's room.  
  
He finds his daughter staring up at him in shock from where she sits at the dressing table. He cocks his head at the maid who's brushing Felicity's hair, silently ordering her to leave the room.   
  
"Papa," Felicity says with wide eyes. She's utterly surprised at his behavior. He has never barged into her room like this before. "What are you doing here?"   
  
Her father strides over to her quickly and envelops her in his arms. She hugs him back automatically.  _Something's different_ , she notices. Her father feels so tense, like a taut wire before it snaps. She pulls away to look at him. There's something different in the way he looks at her.   
  
"What is it?" she asks. "What's wrong?"  
  
"You're far too perceptive for a six-year-old girl," he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He lets it drop. "Something's happened and you aren't safe here any more. I need you to run. Run as far away from here as you can and never return."  
  
"I don't understand." She stares at him, fear gathering in the pit of her stomach.   
  
"Something terrible is going to happen here and I need you to be far away from here when that happens. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"   
  
She narrows her eyes at him. "You aren't coming with me?"   
  
Vincent shakes his head. "No, sweetheart. Papa really wants to. More than anything in the world, but I have to stay behind to keep you safe." He brushes her cheeks delicately with his thumbs, trying his hardest not to let the tears spillover. He has to be strong for his little girl.   
  
She sniffles, her lip trembling with the effort of holding back her tears. She doesn't want to leave her papa. She knows that if she does, she'll never see him again. But how can she say no when he's looking at her so pleadingly?  
  
"Okay," she says, her voice trembling.   
  
Vincent exhales in relief. "Thank you."   
  
Felicity takes her papa's hand and he lifts her up with an arm, carrying her out of the room. She wraps her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent. He always smells like mint and spring. It's a scent she has always associated with safety.   
  
Vincent carries her out of the manor through a door that shouldn't exist. She blinks in confusion when they exit on the right perimeter of the house. She's explored the place countless times since her earliest memories and she knows with absolute certainty that there are only two doors that lead outside Worthington Hall—the front door and the back entrance.  _So how did he do it?_  
  
He sets her down on her feet and kneels down in front of her so that they're at eye level. "My sweet, beautiful girl," he marvels, tracing her cheek. "Always so curious. I'm so sorry I won't be around to watch you grow up."   
  
Felicity chokes back a sob. "You can if you run away with me," she points out.   
  
He shakes his head. "Felicity, I need you to promise me you're going to try your best to survive. Promise me that you'll forget that you're a Smoak."  
  
"Promise." She throws her arms around his neck. "I love you, papa."   
  
He crushes her to him, hugging her tightly. "I love you too, sweetheart."   
  
He releases her and pushes her away, nodding at her to leave. So she does. She heads straight for the cover of the woods, her vision blurred by unshed tears. She never looks back at her papa. She knows that if she does, she'll never be able to force herself to leave again.   
  


* * *

  
  
She doesn't know how long she's been running for. The woods are dark. Darker than they were when she just started running, and the temperature is noticeably lower. The cold bites into her skin, her breaths coming out in white puffs in front of her. Her legs have never been this tired, her throat never this parched.   
  
 _Water._   _I need water._  She slows to a stop, holding onto a tree trunk when her legs threaten to give way beneath her. It's almost too dark to see anything and there's no sign of a stream or spring anywhere. She starts walking, hoping that she'll come across some water soon.   
  
She doesn't know how long more she's walked for, but the woods are pitch black now. She can barely see her hands in front of her.

Then, she sees it. Little orbs of light in the distance. And they're moving. She walks toward the nearest one, wondering what they are. 

  
' _They_ ' turn out to be people holding brass lanterns. She realizes that they're searching for something. Or  _someone_. She freezes in fear for a moment before backtracking frantically. She trips over something she can't see and lands on the ground in a heap. Her palms hurt.   
  
She looks up, seeing that only one of the lights appear to be headed in her direction.  _Maybe he'll miss me_ , she thinks to herself and tries to make herself appear smaller than she is. A twig snaps near her and the next thing she knows, a light is shining in her face. She throws an arm up to shield her eyes.   
  
"Oh, hello," a male voice says. He shifts the lantern away so that she can look at him. "What is a little girl like you doing in the woods at night?"   
  
The voice belongs to a boy who's quite a bit older than she is. Maybe ten or eleven years-old, she guesses. "What are you doing out here then?" Her voice comes out in a croak.   
  
"Looking for my dog. Have you seen him? He's a little golden retriever."   
  
She shakes her head.   
  
He twists his mouth and gives a little shrug. "Well, I guess he'll show up sooner or later." He frowns at her. "You never answered my question. Are you lost?"   
  
She nods.   
  
"You must be really far from home then. No one lives around here for miles. Come on, I'll take you to my manor and have my guards—" he breaks off startled by her reaction when he says the word. She scrambles to get away from him, her eyes wide as saucers and filled with fear.   
  
He holds up his hands, palms facing her. "Woah. Calm down! It's okay, they won't hurt you without my permission."   
  
This does nothing to reassure her.  _Who is this boy anyway?_    
  
He cocks his head. "You're on the run, aren't you?"   
  
She looks even more terrified than she did a moment ago, confirming his suspicion.   
  
"Look. You can run away if you wish. I won't stop you. But you should probably know that there are beasts in these woods that prowl at night. Ferocious ones that rip into flesh," he adds. He watches as her eyes dart around the woods before going back to him, wracked with hesitation. "Or," he says, staring at his fingers, "you can come with me. I'll call away my guards and hide you for the night. Then I'll bring you back here in the morning and you're free to go wherever you want." He shrugs. "It's your choice."   
  
She narrows her eyes at him. "Why are you trying to help me?"   
  
He shrugs again. "I don't know," he says honestly. "You just look like you can use some kindness right now."   
  
Maybe it's because she'd rather spend the night with a roof over her head and water to quench her thirst, or the raw tone of his voice is a clear indication that he's sincere, or maybe even because she knows in her gut that she can trust this boy.   
  
"Okay," she says. The boy looks up at her. "I'll go with you."   
  


* * *

  
  
The boy somehow manages to sneak her through a window in the manor after distracting his many guards.   
  
"Be very quiet," he tells her. "I'll be back soon."   
  
He shuts the windows, leaving her in a dimly lit room. She looks around curiously. It's very well furnished and easily twice the size of her room at home. She starts searching for hiding places. The only viable option is beneath the gigantic four poster bed that dominates the center of the room. She then does a little exploring, careful not to touch anything.   
  
There is a couch and two armchairs arranged around a coffee table between the fireplace and the bed. The far end of the room sits a desk and a bookshelf. She pads over to it and takes a look at the titles on the spines, lacing her fingers together to stop herself from reaching out to touch them.   
  
A noise from outside startles her. She scrambles to hide, ducking beneath the bed when the doorknob twists. She watches as someone wearing brown leather boots enters, their size too small to belong to an adult.   
  
"Little girl?"   
  
 _The boy._  She wriggles out from under the bed.   
  
He frowns at her. "What were you doing under there?"   
  
"Hiding," she says hoarsely, looking at him as if this should be obvious.   
  
He laughs. "You don't have to. No one comes in here without my permission. I brought you some food," he gestures to the tray he just set down on the coffee table.   
  
She scrambles over and grabs the jug of water, and gulps it down, not bothering with the cup.   
  
His eyes widen, startled. "Slowly! Drink slowly. The water will still be there."   
  
She doesn't pay him any heed. She sets the jug down when she's done, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She gives him a sheepish smile. "Thank you." Her voice is a lilting high soprano and possibly one of the sweetest voices he's ever heard.   
  
"You're welcome," he replies softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He goes around the room to light the oil lamps with the single lit candle sitting on the table. He sets it back down when he's done and widens his eyes when he catches sight of her palms. "What happened?"  
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
He nods at her hands. "That. Did you fall?"  
  
She looks down at her hands, frowning. They are grazed and bleeding. "Yes, back in the woods. I tripped over something—a log, I think. Or maybe even a tree trunk. I don't know, it was too dark to see anything—I mean, I couldn't even see my own fingers—" she waves a dismissive hand. "Anyway, my palms hurt after that fall, so it must have been then."   
  
An amused smile appears on his face as she speaks, though he's taken by surprise. "Sit down," he tells her. He crosses the room and fetches a basin of water and a washcloth as she does and places it on the table in front of her. He drops to one knee and takes her hand, methodically cleaning the dirt and blood off her palm.   
  
She winces when the cloth goes over the wound. It does not go unnoticed by him.   
  
"Does it hurt?" And without waiting for a reply, he moves her hand closer to his mouth to blow at it. "Better?"   
  
"A little," she says with a smile which he returns.   
  
Once her hands are clean, he fetches a box from a drawer of his desk. Felicity sees that there are medical supplies in it. She wonders if he gets injured a lot for him to think about having medical supplies close by instead of just having the servants fetch it whenever he needs it.   
  
He pulls out a bandage from the box and carefully wraps it around both her palms. "Done," he says softly. "Does it still hurt?"   
  
"Not really," she says, inspecting his handiwork.   
  
"I can make you feel better."   
  
She peers up at him curiously. "How?"   
  
His mouth curls up at the corners for a brief moment as he takes her hand. Maintaining eye contact, he places a soft kiss on her palm over the bandage.   
  
She lets out a giggle and he winks at her. She holds up the other hand expectantly for him to kiss it better as well, and he barks out a laugh. He places a kiss on that one too and stands, pushing the tray of food toward her.  
  
"Eat while it's still hot."   
  
She reaches eagerly for the spoon, then, remembering something suddenly, hesitates.  
  
"What is it?" he asks.   
  
"There are no nuts in this, right? I'm allergic."   
  
He shakes his head. "Nope, no nuts."  
  
She tucks into the food ravenously, having not eaten all day. It's the best porridge she's ever tasted.   
  
"It's good isn't it?" the boy says smugly.   
  
Felicity nods as she eats another spoonful.   
  
"Raisa makes the best porridge in the world."   
  
She cocks her head. "Who's Raisa?"  
  
"She's the head of the servants. She likes to bake me pastries and lets me tell her about my day. She gives me great advice."   
  
Felicity watches his eyes soften when he speaks about her. It's clear that he adores her. "Sounds like a mother," she remarks.   
  
He shrugs, frowning in thought. "I suppose. But she's not. My mother doesn't care how my day goes, nor does she give me any advice at all beyond how I'm supposed to behave in front of important guests and father's advisors."   
  
"That doesn't sound nice."  
  
"She isn't. What about your mother? What's she like?"   
  
Felicity looks down at her food. "I wouldn't know," she says quietly. "She died shortly after giving birth to me. Papa always says that she's very smart, kind and would have been a loving mother. "  
  
He puts his hand over hers. "I'm sorry."   
  
She shrugs. "I had papa. That's more than enough."   
  
"He sounds like a great father."   
  
"He is." Her eyes start stinging at the thought, tears welling up faster than she thought possible and spilling over onto her cheeks.  
  
"Are you... crying?" he asks needlessly, horrified. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" he pauses, reaching inside his jacket to pull out his handkerchief and hands it to her, wishing he never brought it up.  
  
She takes it from him and blows her nose in a very unladylike way, looking anywhere but at him. She pockets the handkerchief afterward because it wouldn't be nice to return it soiled. She finishes the rest of her food in awkward silence.   
  
The boy takes the tray from her and stands. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."   
  
"Thank you," she whispers.   
  
He frowns. "For what?"  
  
"For being nice to me."   
  
He really smiles this time. It's a dazzling smile that has her marveling at his beauty. "You're welcome," he whispers back and leaves the room.   
  
He goes down to the kitchen and hands the tray to one of the servants. He catches Raisa's gaze and she gives him a curious look.   
  
"What's got you so happy, your highness?"   
  
He belatedly realizes that he's still smiling. "Nothing," he says, hastily hiding his smile. "I want to go on a picnic tomorrow," he tells her. "Can you please prepare enough food for two? No nuts. A friend will be joining me and he's allergic to nuts."   
  
Raisa raises an eyebrow at that.   
  
"Just because it doesn't look like I have any friends apart from Tommy, it doesn't mean I don't actually have other friends," he says defensively.   
  
"Are you sure it's safe, your highness? The attempt on your life—"   
  
"I'm sure father has already dealt with the threat. It's not like him to not cut down any threat like a weed. Besides, I will have my guards with me and we won't go far from here. Don't worry," he places his hands on hers. "I'll be fine, Raisa," he reassures her.   
  


* * *

  
  
He finds Felicity standing in front of the bookshelf when he returns to his room. "Do you like to read?"   
  
She turns around. "Very much. Do you?"   
  
"Not particularly. I prefer having my own adventures rather than reading about someone else's."   
  
Her eyes widen with interest. "What sort of adventures have you had?"   
  
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I haven't actually had any, unless you count exploring all the secret passageways at home with Tommy."   
  
She laughs. "That definitely counts."   
  
He walks over to her and gestures at the bookshelf. "Any of these titles catch your eye?"   
  
She turns back to the bookshelf and points at a book that's out of arm's reach. "That one."  
  
He frowns at her selection, but plucks it from the shelf anyway and hands it to her.   
  
"You don't like folk lore?"   
  
"Not particularly," he says with distaste. "It's unrealistic."   
  
She stares at him. "Isn't that the whole point of folk lore though? Is there Robin Hood in this one?"   
  
He raises an eyebrow. "You like Robin Hood?"   
  
She nods. "He's a hero. Don't you think?"   
  
He shrugs. "Not really, but I'll agree to disagree."   
  
Felicity isn't sure what that means, but she drops the subject and goes to sit in the armchair nearest to the fire and starts reading.   
  
The boy returns to his desk and tries to get some of his math homework done, but finds himself being distracted by her. He keeps looking up at her, watching her bite her lower lip as she reads the story, the way a little 'v' appears between her brows as she concentrates and the way she smiles when she's at a nice part of the story.   
  
He shakes his head and forces himself to focus, tuning out the sound of the page flipping every now and then. When he finally looks up at her again, she has fallen asleep in a rather uncomfortable looking position, the book still in her hands. He pads over to her and sets the book down, then tries to carry her over to his bed without waking her. His knees buckle under her weight, unfortunately, and she startles awake.   
  
"What are you doing?" she asks blearily.   
  
"Over-estimating my own strength, apparently," he mutters to himself.   
  
"What?"   
  
He clears his throat, flushing a little. "I was trying to get you to the bed. You looked really uncomfortable in the armchair."   
  
"It's okay," she says, crossing over to the couch. "I'll sleep here." She curls up on it and shuts her eyes. "Goodnight, big boy," she mumbles.   
  
He snorts in amusement at the name, taking the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over her. He lightly brushes her hair away from her face. "Goodnight, little girl," he whispers.  
  
His voice is the last thing she hears before she drifts off to sleep.   
  


* * *

  
  
He sneaks her into the woods at dawn through a secret passageway in his room.   
  
"Why didn't we enter the manor through that last night?" she wonders.   
  
"Because the door only opens from the inside."   
  
They stop walking when the manor is just out of sight. He hands her the rucksack he's holding.   
  
"What's this?" she asks.   
  
"I had Raisa prepare some food for you. I told her not to use nuts, so don't worry about that. It's in here along with the book you were reading last night." He takes a deep breath and takes her hand, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her palm. "I don't know what it is you're running from or why, but I can guess. I'm not going to ask for your name or where you're headed because the less I know about you, the safer you'll be."  
  
She frowns in confusion. "I don't—"  
  
"You'll have to put as much distance between us as possible, because I really, _really_  like you. I don't want anything to happen to you because of me." He unlaces the cloak he's wearing and drapes it over her shoulders, fastening it. Next, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a necklace with a beautiful blue diamond. "I don't have a habit of carrying gold around with me and asking the servants for it will raise suspicion so I'll just give you this. I wouldn't know about what it's like to survive in the real world on your own, but I imagine that you'll need some form of money to get around. I don't have much to give you, but I want you to have this. My grandmother told me to give it to someone special." He clasps it around her neck and takes a step back. "It looks good on you."   
  
"I'm not special to you," she points out.   
  
The corner of his mouth curls into a smile. "You're the first person I've met that actually treats me like a person—like an equal and not because of my title. You're also the first friend I've had apart from Tommy, but he doesn't count because he's my cousin. That makes you pretty darn special, little girl."  
  
"Friends," she tries out the word. "Is that what we are?"  
  
"I'd like us to be."   
  
Her lips spread into a wide toothy smile, her whole face brightening up suddenly. That's when he doesn't just think she's the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He  _knows_  she is. She closes the distance between them and stands on tip toes, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Her long lashes tickle the side of his face.   
  
"Thank you," she says softly. "Truly. But I cannot accept your gift. It's too much."   
  
He opens his mouth, presumably to argue, but she never gets to hear what he intends to say. One moment she's standing upright, and the next she's lying on the ground, the wind knocked out of her. Something big and heavy sits on her just before something wet licks her cheek.   
  
"Sammy! You came back!"   
  
The weight is lifted off her chest. She pulls herself into a sitting position and sees the boy hugging a large dog with golden fur. He turns to her and starts laughing before giving her a hand.   
  
"I'm sorry about that," he laughs. "Sammy isn't usually this enthusiastic with people." He frowns. "Actually, I can't recall him ever behaving like this. He doesn't trust people much apart from Tommy and I. You must be really special. See? Sammy likes you already."  
  
She tentatively strokes Sammy's head with two fingers. "I like him too."   
  
He grins at her for a moment before it fades. "You should probably go."   
  
She nods. "Yeah, I should." They share a bittersweet moment, just looking into each other's eyes and not saying anything before she turns around and starts walking away. She turns back abruptly, as if suddenly remembering something. The boy has already started walking back to the manor with Sammy in tow. "Wait!" she calls.  
  
He turns around, an eyebrow raised, looking at her curiously. "What is it?"  
  
"Who  _are_  you?"   
  
He throws his head back and lets out a laugh. "I'm Oliver Queen... the crown prince of Starling." With a wink, he turns around and continues on his path.   
  
Her jaw drops and the rucksack slips from her grasp. When she's finally processed this bit of information, she picks the bag off the ground, her eyes burning with resolve. "You're wrong, Oliver Queen," she says, gently touching the necklace he gave her. "You _will_  see me again." 


	2. Chapter 2

Twelve years later...

* * *

 

Oliver carefully extricates himself from the unfamiliar bed he's in, careful not to wake its owner who passed out a short while ago from the night's activities. He dresses quickly, pulling on his breeches and robe, not wanting to stay in Lady Isabel's chambers for a moment longer than necessary.

He quickly pads over to the door and lets himself out, closing it behind him with a soft click. He hurries back to his chambers, trying his best to avoid being seen by the guards. It's not too difficult, seeing that he was marooned on a hellish island for five years and had to learn how to evade capture and survive in harsh conditions.

He manages to slip into his chambers undetected and is about to pat himself on the back for another job well done when he realizes he's not alone.

"Hello, Ollie," the other person in the room says.

"Thea," Oliver says in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

 "Looking for you. Where were you?"

 Oliver rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was out. Taking a walk."

 Thea cocks her head. "Taking a ride, you mean?"

 His eyes widen at her bluntness and he gives her an unrepentant smile.

 "Who was it this time? McKenna? Or was it Helena?"

 "Isabel Rochev," Oliver says with a smirk.

 Thea scrunches her face in disgust.

 "She's attractive," Oliver shrugs, still grinning. "So, my dear sister, what brings you here so late in the night?"

 "I just wanted to remind you that Laurel is arriving at court tomorrow," Thea says, getting up from the couch.

 "I remember. Why do you think I was with Isabel?"

 "Because you're an ass?" Thea suggests with mock sweetness.

 Oliver narrows his eyes at her. "It's because I respect Laurel enough not to fool around when she's at court."

 Thea sighs and heads to the door. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ollie." She lets herself out before he can even form a response.

 "I do know what I'm doing," he mutters to himself.

 

* * *

 

A blonde-haired girl dressed in a grey dress stands on a large hill overlooking a large manor. She stares at it for a while, a doleful look in her eyes. She sighs wistfully when she remembers all the happy times she had as a child in that big house with her father.

She had wondered what happened that fateful day for years. She intuitively guessed that the people her father incurred the wrath of are more than just the typical lowlife, or even those rich and powerful enough to have armed guards to do their bidding. Most people had the sense to steer clear of Vincent Smoak—after all, the duke of Worthington isn't someone people want to trifle with. Who possessed so much power that even her father's men couldn't defend against?

It wasn't until a few years ago that she finally dared to inquire about Vincent Smoak. It turns out that he was executed by the King for attempting to assassinate the crown prince—a crime that sentences the entire family to death. She had laughed incredulously at that. Not only was it ludicrous to suggest that one of the most honorable men she has ever known was behind the attempt, the sheer irony that the boy her father supposedly tried to assassinate saved her life is unbelievable.

She vehemently refuses to believe that her father is capable of such a monstrous act. However, if he did in fact orchestrate the attempt, he must've had a darn good reason. Whatever the truth is, she intends to find out. But first, she needs a new outfit.

With one last lingering look at her father's manor, she heads off in the direction of the castle.

The journey takes a week on foot. She arrives outside the castle walls on a Wednesday morning, dressed in a peasant's dress that she stole from a clothing line along the way. She takes a moment to stare at the sheer size of the structure.

"Yes?" a guard snaps at her.

She blinks at him. "Oh, hello. I'm just utterly taken aback by how enormous this place is. I mean—I knew it is big, obviously, but not this big. I don't think the word 'big' is even enough to describe the size of the castle." She touches a finger to her lip, frowning thoughtfully. "Huge, maybe. Oh, wait, I know. Gigantic."

The guard ignores her rambling. "If you're here to air your grievances and receive judgement from the King, you're out of luck. Come back tomorrow."

"I'm not here for that. There's someone called Raisa here, isn't there? The one who's in charge of the servants? Can you take me to her, please?"

The guard looks her up and down, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Why do you want to see her?"

"I wish to seek employment," she says politely, resisting the urge to smooth down her skirt.

He looks disbelievingly at her, but nods at another guard nonetheless, jerking his head at the gate.

She flashes a grin, trying not to look too excited as she enters. It's a long walk from the gate to the castle, not because of the distance but because Felicity keeps getting distracted by the scenery, irritating the guard to no end when he keeps having to turn around to make sure she's still following him. They enter the castle through the servants' entrance. He leads her down a series of hallways past the storerooms and kitchen, pausing every now and then to ask if someone has seen Raisa.

He takes her to some sort of ballroom and her jaw drops, floored by how grand it is. There are marble statues at the corners of the room, one long table draped with a pristine cream tablecloth on one side of the room and a large marble staircase at the back of the room where guests are announced when they enter. There is a door on the right of the room which opens up into a balcony overlooking a garden. There is a flurry of activity in this room, servants polishing the floor, dusting the stairs and others busy with flower arrangements at the tables.

The guard leads her to a woman overseeing the entire operation. "Raisa, there's a..." he pauses, turning around to look at Felicity with mild distaste, "... _girl_ here to see you."

Raisa is a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman with grey streaks in her hair. She gives off a motherly sort of vibe and remembering what Oliver told her all those years ago, she can see why he adores this woman so much. Raisa regards her curiously before nodding at the guard who takes his leave. "Who are you?"

"Felicity," she says automatically. "Felicity Wilson, ma'am. I'm here to seek employment."

Raisa raises an eyebrow. "Follow me." She brings her to a room not far from the ballroom and shuts the door behind them. Turning to face Felicity, she says, "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

She takes a deep breath before launching into her story. "I'm an orphan and grew up in a convent quite some distance from here. Actually, it's really far away from here considering how long it took for me to get here. A week. That's on foot, of course. I'm rambling, aren't I? I do that sometimes," Felicity gives a sheepish smile. "Anyway, I decided to leave and I heard that there's no place safer for a female without family to work than the castle, so here I am."

Raisa doesn't respond immediately, instead choosing to eye her with interest.

Felicity smooths out her skirt and tries not to shift on her feet.

"Working here is much unlike the chores I assume you had to do at the convent," Raisa says slowly.

"Yes, I understand," Felicity replies quickly. "I'm prepared to work hard."

"Luckily for you, we can use an extra pair of hands seeing that we have a busy week ahead of us."

"What's the occasion?"

Raisa raises an eyebrow in surprise, which Felicity mirrors. "Am I not supposed to know?"

"It's not that. You're the first person I've come across that's ever dared to ask."

Felicity bites her lip and nods. "Don't ask questions. Got it."

A flicker of amusement flashes in Raisa's eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it comes, causing her to wonder if she imagined the whole thing.

The older woman crosses the room and pulls out a uniform from one of the closets, handing it to her quickly. "I'll show you to your quarters and then take you to the Great Hall where you'll start work."

* * *

 

The Great Hall turns out to be a dining room, though it's much larger than Felicity has ever seen. Tapestries and portraits cover the walls and dark red drapes are pulled aside to reveal floor to ceiling windows. Three long tables fill the room, one at the back of the room atop a raised platform above a set of stairs for the royal family and two at either sides of the room for the court members and nobles.

"Princess Laurel Lance from Coast City is due to arrive today, to answer your earlier question," Raisa begins after giving her a moment to take in everything. She then nods at one of the tables. "Why don't you start with something simple? Go help with arranging the cutlery."

Felicity bows politely before making her way to the table Raisa indicated.

A while later when Raisa isn't paying attention, she turns to the nearest servant. "So, who is Princess Laurel Lance?"

The other girl raises an eyebrow. "You're new here, aren't you?"

Felicity grins sheepishly. "That obvious?"

The girl cocks her head, looking at her with mild interest. "Princess Laurel and Prince Oliver have been engaged since they were six. They've only started courting a short while before he went missing for five years. Now that he's back, they've resumed their courtship but I expect that'll change soon."

"He went missing? How?"

"Have you been living under a rock?" the girl wonders before shaking her head. "He was on a galleon to Paris when it capsized midway. He was presumed dead, but it turns out that he was marooned on an island for the five years he was missing for. Somehow, he survived on his own out there and returned on a fishing boat."

Felicity lowers the hand over her mouth (she'd placed it there when the girl was telling the tale), still reeling from the story but still wanting more information to satisfy her curiosity. "You said that their courtship is going to change. What does that mean?"

The girl looks at Felicity as if she should have guessed it already. Beckoning her closer, she lowers her voice. "It's no secret that the King and Queen are pushing for their marriage. There are also whispers in court that Prince Oliver is going to propose!" she adds dramatically.

A throat clearing behind them has them freezing immediately. "I believe you were hired to work, not to gossip. Or is this your way of telling me that you want more work to do?"

The two girls bow their heads and try to look apologetic. Satisfied with their reactions, the woman walks away, her heels clicking on the marble floor with every step.

"Who _is_ that?" Felicity whispers.

"That's Isabel Rochev. One of the Queen's handmaidens. Trust me, you do not want to get on her bad side."

"So, any idea where I can go to catch a glimpse of the princess when she arrives?"

 

* * *

 

"They're here!" Thea says excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as the line of carriages come into view.

"You're that happy that Laurel's here?" Oliver asks in a low voice, making sure that he's not overheard.

"Of course! She makes things much livelier, don't you think?" Thea cocks her head and smirks at him.

He just rolls his eyes in response.

The carriages slow to a stop in front of them and a footman steps forward to open the carriage door, assisting a tall slender brunette to her feet. She casts a brief look at the castle before smiling at the people who have come to greet her.

Oliver steps up dutifully and bows. "Laurel," he smiles. "It's been too long."

Laurel inclines her head. "Indeed it has, Ollie. You look different."

He reaches a hand up to his hair, combing his fingers through what little of it left. "I wanted a change and decided that long hair isn't for me. How do I look?"

She assesses him with undisguised appreciation. "I think it suits you."

"Shall I escort you to your chambers? I'm sure the journey has been tiring." He extends an arm which she takes, tucking her fingers just above the crook of his elbow and allows him to escort her inside.

Felicity arrives at the second floor window overlooking the main entrance of the castle just as he is leading her inside. She focuses her attention on the boy who was kind to her twelve years ago. She can't see much from this distance, but is glad that he appears to be well. She watches as the two royals share a smile as they disappear from her line of sight.

"I hope you get your happily ever after, Oliver Queen," she murmurs to herself.

 

* * *

 

Felicity knows she shouldn't be here. She should be elsewhere—getting herself familiarized with the castle to aid in her investigation of the events leading to her father's death or perhaps getting some rest after the long week she's had traveling to the castle on foot (she scolds herself again for not stealing one of the horses she saw in the stables of an inn she passed)—but before she's even consciously decided how to spend her evening, she finds herself intercepting one of the trays of refreshments meant for the guests at the ball and taking it to the ballroom. She wonders, not for the first time, why she's taking the risk at all.

The guards open the doors to the ballroom upon seeing her and she takes a moment to stare at everyone dressed in their finest. Her gaze drops to the servant's uniform she wears, her expression becoming wistful. If things had gone differently, this would be the life she's leading right now. She can see all of it in her head—her papa finding suitors for her, donning beautiful gowns, being courted, falling in love and... having her happily ever after.

She doesn't know how long she stands there for, but when she blinks, a guard is waving a hand in front of her face. "I'm sorry," she says automatically, shaking her head. "I was just... dreaming," she finishes softly.

The guard shrugs. "Happens to all of us. Why don't you set that down before you drop it?" he nods at the tray she's still holding.

"Right," she says and quickly sets it down on the table. She turns back to look at him. "You're not like the other guards I've met."

He nods. "I know. Most of them are assholes."

She widens her eyes in surprise at the word, causing him to burst out laughing.

"You're an innocent one, aren't you?" He shakes his head. "It's the truth though. Most really are assholes. You won't get to meet many guards that are as nice, charming and dashing as I am."

Felicity raises both eyebrows at that, her lips quirking in amusement. "I may have to agree with your assessment." On seeing his smug grin, she adds hastily, "I'm not saying that I think you're nice, charming and dashing. I meant to say that I agree that some of the guards are indeed not as nice as you are."

He starts laughing again and she rolls her eyes in response.

"I'm Roy, by the way. Roy Harper."

"Felicity Wilson," she replies, smiling.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Felicity. I'm afraid I have to return to my station," he jerks his head in the direction of the stairs.

She looks up and sees a petite brunette dressed in a gown of the finest maroon silk descending the stairs elegantly. "Who's that?"

Roy scoffs to himself. "You're new here. Figures," he mutters. "That," he says, not taking his eyes off the brunette, "is Princess Thea Queen. Please excuse me." He disappears into the crowd before she can even blink.

For the next hour, she tries her best to blend in with the surroundings, trying not to draw any sort of attention to herself. She does rather well, if she does say so herself, since no one has paid her any mind since Roy left to keep an eye on the princess. Apart from occasionally looking at Laurel, she doesn't think her gaze has shifted from Oliver since he arrived in the room. When she saw him earlier, she thought he was rather good-looking. After seeing him up-close, however, she thinks he may be the most beautiful man she's ever seen. He has dark hair which is cropped short, much unlike the long dark blonde hair he had twelve years ago, dazzling blue eyes framed by long dark lashes and a chiseled jaw covered with dark stubble. She notices that he smiles a lot, but they never reach his eyes.

She looks away when he starts dancing with Laurel and that's when she spots it—a servant girl trying her best to remain unnoticed, and doing quite adeptly at it. Most people wouldn't notice her, unless they're exceptionally observant or just happen to glance in her direction, but after years of experience of trying not to draw attention to herself, Felicity notices it immediately. She watches as the girl slowly makes her way to the refreshment table and slips something into one of the gold goblets. She then puts the goblet onto a tray along with a few others.

Felicity closes the distance between them before she even realizes she's doing it, all the while wondering who the drink is intended for. It doesn't take long for her to find out. She sees Laurel making a beeline for the table and narrows her eyes at the servant girl whose beady eyes are almost dancing in anticipation.

_She intends to poison the princess. But why?_

Felicity shifts her gaze to Oliver and sees him following after Laurel, a determined look on his face. She watches as the look changes into a badly disguised desperation and panic when a group of men stop him for conversation just as the servant hands Laurel the goblet. _He knows_ , Felicity realizes. _He knows about the poison, but won't be able to stop Laurel from drinking it in time._

Somehow, his gaze shifts to her. In that moment, she silently conveys that she'll prevent it from happening. With that, she heads straight for Laurel and knocks right into her just as the goblet touches her lips, sending them tumbling to the floor.

In her daze, she vaguely registers several horrified gasps and that the music has stopped playing. She picks herself up painfully and sees the princess' beautiful white gown stained a dark red, her murderously angry eyes trained on her. She had never understood the phrase 'if looks could kill' until now.

One of Laurel's hand maidens helps her up and in the instant between the time she is sitting awkwardly on the floor and standing on her feet, her expression changes entirely, replaced by one of slight irritation. Felicity thinks it's odd how her fury subsides so quickly, but puts the thought at the back of her mind and immediately starts to apologize profusely.

For someone who looked furious enough to kill, she utterly surprises Felicity when she just waves off the apology with a laugh. "It was an accident. Just forget it ever happened."

"But I—"

"Laurel! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Oliver pushes past the people in his way and starts examining her for injuries.

"Ollie, I'm fine. Really. I just need to change my gown."

He exhales in relief. Then, he turns to look at Felicity. "Guards! Take her away!"

She blanches. _Oh dear God. So this is how it ends then? I save the life of the woman he is courting and I get thrown out of the castle or worse._ A shudder ripples through her at the thought.

The guards grab her by her arms and haul her out of the ballroom and down a dimly lit hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" she says indignantly, struggling to free herself from their vise-like grip. "Don't tell me you're hauling me off to the dungeon!"

They take her up a seemingly never ending flight of stairs until they reach the top of a tower. Then, they let go of her arms.

"Why did you take me here?" she asks, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "Did the Prince order you to throw me out of the tower?"

"No, the Prince most certainly did not," a voice says from the doorway. She whirls around to see none other than the Prince himself. He looks at his guards. "Leave us."

They bow and take their leave, shutting the door behind them.

Felicity takes an instinctive step backward, toward the open window. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing other than to thank you for saving the life of my friend."

She exhales a sigh of relief. "Oh thank God! I thought that I was imagining the look we exchanged earlier and that you didn't see what that girl did—and I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't. Most people don't notice stuff like that even when it happens right in front of their faces..." she trails off, widening her eyes when she suddenly remembers who she is speaking to. "Not that you're 'most people'," she laughs nervously, "but that girl was really skilled. If she didn't happen to catch my attention, she would have escaped my notice and we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

Oliver is slightly taken aback, but unable to keep his lips from twitching when he tries to stifle his amusement.

She looks away, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I wonder who orchestrated it," she murmurs to herself. "The princess has to have food tasters. For a servant to even slip something into her drink and hand it to her personally..." she shakes her head.

"That's because that servant girl is one of her food tasters," he points out.

Felicity gapes at him. "And you had me hauled away instead of _her_?" she asks incredulously.

He narrows his eyes at her. "I don't appreciate having my actions questioned by a servant," he says coldly.

"I'm sorry," she says, looking away.

"You may go," he says shortly, stepping away from the door.

She bows and walks briskly to the door, raising a hand to the doorknob then pausing. _What if I don't get another chance to speak to him?_ She turns around, looking him straight in the eye. "Have you been well, your Highness?"

He looks at her, curiosity and surprise replacing his earlier irritation. He considers the question for a moment, almost as if no one has asked him that before. "Yes. I've been well, thank you."

She smiles, her whole face brightening up. "I'm glad to hear that. Goodnight, your highness."

He continues to stare at the doorway after her long after she's gone, thinking that he's never met anyone quite like her.

 

* * *

 

 A hand clamps over Felicity's wrist and yanks her hard the moment she twists the knob of the door to her quarters. Before she even has a chance to see who it is, she's backhanded so hard across her cheek, sending her crashing into the wall like a rag-doll. Her vision blurs, but she can vaguely make out two people standing in her room. One dressed in a guard's uniform and the other a white gown stained with a rust-like color.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Felicity blinks quickly, trying to clear her vision before the guard strikes her again. The figure in the white dress approaches her slowly.

_I've seen this person before_ , she realizes. _But where?_

The guard yanks her up from the floor before she can make the link, but it turns out, she doesn't have to. He holds her up against the wall by a hand around her throat, not tightly enough to bruise or suffocate her, but enough to warn her about what will likely happen if she makes one wrong move. Her gaze shifts slowly from the guard to the woman standing next to him, not the least bit surprised by who she is. She scoffs at herself internally because she should have known better, not because she's royalty, but because of the look Princess Laurel had flashed her back in The Great Hall.

"That is going to show," the Princess says after inspecting Felicity's cheek. "Consider yourself lucky. If you cross me again, or even look at me the wrong way, you'll find yourself lying face down in a ditch... or worse."

Something about the way she says it utterly terrifies her, and it isn't the first part of the threat she's more worried about. _What could be worse than death?_

She doesn't move; barely even breathes until the two people leave her room. She doesn't allow herself to collapse onto the floor despite the way her legs are wobbling, as if they are suddenly unable to support her weight. Her hands are shaking. Sucking in a breath in an attempt to calm herself down, she goes over to the door and bolts it, making sure it's firmly locked. Then, she goes over to the bed and reaches under the pillow, groping around for something. She pulls out a long dagger from underneath and hugs it to her chest, the handle worn and familiar in her hand. 

When dawn breaks, she is still sitting at the edge of her bed, the dagger still in her hands as she twirls it around her fingers. She hasn't slept a wink, but she isn't the least bit tired. She sheaths the blade and straps it to her thigh, the skirt of her uniform concealing its outline perfectly. She promises herself that there will not be a repeat of what happened the night before, and that if the Princess were to execute her threats, she will not go down without a fight.

* * *

 

"You backhanded the poor girl?," John Diggle hisses. "I thought you were just going to talk to her."  
  
Oliver frowns at his bodyguard in confusion. "What girl? Whoever she is, I made sure not to leave any visible marks, so you're after the wrong person."

Diggle rolls his eyes, not the least bit surprised that that's the first thing his mind jumps to. "I meant the servant girl who saved your fiancée's life last night."

"I spoke to her, that's all. I never laid a hand on her."

"Well, someone sure as hell did. She's walking around with a swollen cheek right now."  
  
" _What?_ " Oliver looks around at the servants near him. None of them are the blonde-haired girl from last night. "Where is she?"  
  
"I saw her in the throne room earlier, your Highness."  
  
"Find out who did that to her. Now!" he snaps when Diggle raises an eyebrow.  
  
After Diggle disappears round the corner, he clenches his jaw, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, he changes direction, heading away from Laurel's chambers and to the throne room instead.  
  
He spots her easily, seeing that she's the only blonde in the room. He goes up to her and clears his throat to get her attention—  
  
Except that he doesn't get it—she doesn't look up from the stair she's busy polishing. Frowning, he tries again.  
  
She looks up this time, meeting his eyes for only a split second before she jerks her head down, angling it back up at an odd angle in an attempt to hide one side of her face. "Your Highness?"  
  
His fingers ball into fists by his sides. "Follow me. We need to talk." Then, he turns and strides away without even looking to see if she's following. And he doesn't need to. After five years of hell that he'd rather forget, his sense of awareness has heightened considerably. He can feel her presence a distance behind him.  
  
He stops abruptly in an empty hallway and turns on his heel, watching as she jerks to a stop before angling her head at an odd angle again. He marches up to her and invades her personal space, tipping her head upward with his fingers at her chin, keeping her in place. He stares at the large bruise on the right side of her face for a long moment, almost seething with anger.  
  
"What happened to you?" he hisses through clenched teeth.  
  
She bites her lip, casting her gaze downward. "I... I fell."

He arches a brow. "On your face?"  
  
"Yes, your Highness," she lies.  
  
He cocks his head. "Tell me, did the floor have knuckles?"  
  
She lets out an audible gasp, eyes flying to his. "How did—"  
  
"Who?"  
  
She averts her eyes again. _I can't tell you that. I don't want to be the reason you ruin your relationship with the girl you might possibly marry._  
  
"Who?" he snarls.  
  
She jerks her chin away from his grasp. "I'm sorry, but I cannot tell you that, your Highness."  
  
"Was it..." he trails off, as if unable to voice his suspicion. He tries again. "Was it _Laurel_ who struck you?"  
  
She looks him in the eye this time. "No," she says firmly. "She never laid a hand on me." _It's the truth_ , she reasons with herself. _It was her guard who struck me, after all, but he doesn't need to know that._  
  
Oliver stares at her for an immeasurable moment. "At least tell me this. If you see this person again, will you be able to recognize him or her?"  
  
"Yes," she says, her fingers twitching toward the dagger under her skirts. "I'll never forget his face for the rest of my life."  
  


* * *

  
  
"You missed our breakfast this morning."  
  
Oliver looks up from the stallion he's stroking to see Laurel standing at the entrance to the castle. "Something came up at the last minute," he says, closing the distance between them. "How about I make it up to you?" he says when he's standing right in front of her.  
  
She cocks her head. "What did you have in mind?"  
  
"How do you feel about a trip to the nearest village?"  
  
Her eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting that. After a moment's consideration, she smiles. "I'd love that."  
  
Dressed in plain clothes to fit in with the people, Oliver has the carriage driver stop some distance away from the village so that they can cover the remaining journey on foot. Diggle arrives on horseback shortly after, already appropriately dressed. The two men exchange a glance and Diggle subtly shakes his head.  
  
Disappointed, Oliver returns a curt nod before turning his attention back to Laurel. "How are you holding up? I know you aren't used to traveling under such conditions."  
  
She gives him a strange smile. "I'm fine. Are we almost there?"  
  
"Yes, the village is just up ahead." Turning to Diggle, he says, "Have the guards follow us discretely. Their overprotective tendencies will blow our cover."  
  
As soon as they set foot into the village, Oliver immediately notices that something's not right. Most of the people he sees look gaunt and lifeless, a far cry from five years ago where the people bustled around energetically. He goes over to sit with an elderly couple who are watching a group of children entertain themselves.  
  
"There have been no droughts or floods this year and the harvests have been good. Why do the children look so thin?" he asks them.  
  
Without taking his eyes off the children, the elderly man responds, "It's not only the drought and flood that take from us. We barely have anything left after paying taxes and the remaining gets taken by corrupt officials or get stolen in the night."  
  
Oliver watches the children for a while before catching Diggle's eye and jerking his head in the direction of the entrance of the village. He stands, takes Laurel's hand and escorts her back to the carriage.  
  
"I am going to do something for those people," he tells her while they're on the way back to the castle. "I'll draft a proposal on a reduction in taxes and submit it to my father when he has his next meeting with the court officials and advisors and I'll find out who are the ones abusing their power and have it stripped from them."  
  
"Your intentions are noble, Ollie..."  
  
He frowns a little. "I sense a 'but' coming."  
  
"...but I think you should just report your findings to the King and have him handle the rest," she finishes.  
  
"You don't think I can handle it," he corrects.  
  
Laurel leans forward and takes his hand in both of hers. "I know you think that you can, but what will happen when the going gets tough? I don't mean to be blunt, but I don't think you have the commitment to see it through."  
  
Oliver pulls his hand away from hers. "You have that little faith in me?"  
  
"Your behavior at court doesn't inspire much confidence in your abilities," she points out. "You hardly pay attention during meetings, you haven't taken any interest when your people go to the King for judgement, you're flippant and never take anything seriously—"  
  
"You've been doing your homework."  
  
"I take an interest in anything that concerns you."  
  
"I am not this person you're making me out to be," he says defensively.  
  
"I beg to differ. Have you taken an interest in our courtship at all? We've been courting for two years, Ollie, and engaged for a decade. I am by your side, fully committed. Are you? You keep telling me that I will be a great Queen for your people, but you don't even have the intention of marrying me any time soon!"  
  
"So that's what all this is really about. Your lack of faith in my abilities is really because you're feeling insecure. You think I'm not committed to you. To us."  
  
"That's not true—"  
  
There is a coldness in his eyes that she's never seen directed at her before. "Isn't it, Laurel?" He turns to look out of the window, effectively ending the conversation.  
  
He all but bolts out of the carriage the moment they pull up in front of the castle and heads inside without a backward glance. He doesn't even acknowledge her when she calls his name.  
  


* * *

  
  
Oliver sits at his desk, tipping a bottle into his goblet, frowning when only a drop of the liquid trickles into it. He sets the bottle down, realizing that in the time he's spent sitting alone in his room after his trip to the village, he's downed the entire bottle of scotch.  
  
He looks around the dark room, feeling empty, and suddenly suffocated. He pushes up from the chair into a standing position, staggering as he makes his way out of the room to get some air.  
  
The hallway is spinning. He reaches a hand out to the wall, trying to steady himself, but ends up stumbling into it, knocking the paintings askew. He pushes himself away from the wall and feels something warm pressed up against his side—  
  
"Stop. Stop it or we'll both topple to the floor."  
  
He ducks his chin down and sees a girl with blonde hair clutching at him, his arm somehow over her shoulder. "It's you," he says after focusing on her face. He frowns. "I don't know your name."  
  
"That's because I never told you," she says, sliding an arm around his back and supporting his weight. "Where's your room?"  
  
"Ah," he says, a salacious smile appearing on his face. "You're trying to take advantage of me while I'm drunk."  
  
"I— _what?_ "  
  
His eyes roam appreciatively down her face to her body and back up again. "You're beautiful," he tells her, his words slurring. He starts swaying on his feet and she struggles to hold him upright.  
  
"So are you," she says, then stills when she realizes what she's said. Shaking her head once dismissively, she asks again, "Where's your room?"  
  
"That way," he says, pointing somewhere in front.  
  
"Okay," she says, her voice straining with the effort to keep him from falling. "Work with me," she says after a few steps. "Oh God, you're heavy."  
  
"I know." He frowns in concentration, trying not to trip over his own feet.  
  
"Is this really all muscle?"  
  
"This way," he says, pulling her into a room she on the left and then almost sends them falling onto the floor when he hurries over to the couch.  
  
Hands on bent knees, panting, she asks breathlessly, "Just how much did you drink?"  
  
Oliver holds up a hand, pinching his thumb and index finger, "A little."  
  
"I'll go get you some water."  
  
He catches her wrist before she can leave, remarkably quickly for someone so drunk. "Don't leave."  
  
She blinks at him.  
  
Oliver pats the empty seat beside him. "Sit." When she doesn't move, he adds, "Please."  
  
So she does, making sure to leave a good amount of space between them just in case someone decides to come to the library at 2 am in the morning.  
  
"I took Laurel to The Glades today," he says after a long moment of silence.  
  
She looks up at him in surprise, not expecting him to say that at all.  
  
"It didn't go the way I was expecting it to. Not in the slightest. Before the island, I passed through the village once. The people were happy; content. Watching them live their lives was calming, in a way. I wanted to share that with her today. When we arrived, however, I found out that these people are starving not because of poor harvests but because of taxes and corrupt officials.  
  
"I told Laurel that I wanted to help those people." He laughs once, bitterly, shaking his head at the memory. "She didn't think I'd be able to do it. She thinks that even after seeing the plight of those people, I still lack the commitment to do what needs to be done—to see that the situation is resolved satisfactorily." He looks up at her. "All I wanted was some encouragement. I wanted her to have faith in me." He looks away, not wanting her to see the hurt in his eyes.  
  
"If it is any consolation, I believe in you," she says softly.  
  
He looks up at her in surprise. "You do?" Then, he shakes his head. "You're just placating me. If the woman I've been engaged to for a decade can't even—"  
  
"I'm not," she insists, looking at him earnestly, her blue eyes meeting his. "I believe you're capable of accomplishing a lot of things if you set your heart to it. I say, go for it. Do what you must to help those people and prove the princess wrong at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone; sounds like a win to me," She shrugs. "Not," she adds, "that I've ever killed any birds with a stone. That is such a horrible phrase. Killing birds are awful enough and to top it off, you have to use stones to do it?"

He chokes out a laugh at that, and it's so unexpected that he is surprised by himself. What is it about this girl? He smiles at her. It's a genuine dazzling smile that touches his eyes and makes her heart stutter. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," she replies, but he has already drifted off to sleep. "I'll always believe in you, big boy," she whispers before padding softly out of the library and shutting the door quietly behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first period fic! I know, there are historical inaccuracies here and there, but this is fanfic, right? Please bear with me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading!
> 
> ~ Skylar


End file.
